Please, No Rats...
Posted on Thu May 19th, 2022 @ 5:54pm by Caithlin t'Leiya & Cornelius Warner MS & Lieutenant Gunnar Arnason & Seshi Macae
2,316 words; about a 12 minute read
Mission:
Roll With It
Location: Silver Tongue
Their shuffle to the nearest known safe pub took them to the Silver Tongue, which had suffered the same high fantasy fate as the rest of the surrounding area. And, while this was Cornelius's establishment, it was Seshi who barreled in, soaking wet from the torrential downpour of rain from outside. On her shoulder was the floppy banana, who seemed just as upset that he was rained on as she was. He flapped his mouth a couple of times to dry off, before letting out a similar huff that she did.
But then, Seshi looked up and about at the state of the bar around them. "Heavens..."
Cornelius followed the woman into his bar and let out a series of expletives that, regardless of the language spoken, would have caused a moment of pause and wonder for how poorly they combined while effectively explaining how he felt. The ceiling of the original had been open and wide, creating a spacious feeling when paired with the large windows. Now the roof area was occupied by solid wood beams, from which a collection of ravens had roosted and watched carefully from above. The central bar was now constructed of stone and wood, with the stools around it now also matched wood. Around the edge booths now occupied the space, filling it out in a way that made the man scrunch his nose and frown.
Both walls were flanked by two large fireplaces, cold as they were at this moment as the bar was technically closed. As he swept about, it didn't take long for him to find the tinderbox and get one of the fires going in short order, moving to the other side. With that, more light now filled the room, casting harsh shadows and giving a better idea of what the space looked like. He lit a small torch and carried it about to the sconces, which was met by confused, and admittedly annoyed, caws from the ravens above. The kitchen was still that, a kitchen, now with its meat and cooking ingredients hanging from racks around it. Placing the torch into the area under the pot, he started yet another fire to add to the heat of the room.
Finally, the bartender hung his cloak on a hook near the fire and deciding it was better to dry off more quickly, added his shirt to the section as well, leaving his gear nearby. If it was him he'd have done away with the pants and boots as well, but he figured some degree of modesty was needed. Heading behind the bar, he grabbed the first bottle he found, uncorked it and gave it a questioning sniff. "Whiskey," he muttered, with a note that made it clear that whatever this stuff was, it was expected to be foul in taste. Sliding a few glassed onto the bar, he looked lastly at the large wooden kegs and thought better of it. Whatever beer it was that would be in there would probably break his heart. He poured water - another thing he sniffed questioningly - and slid that onto the table as well. "So I think we can rule out hologram for sure," the barkeeper said with a characteristic grin.
Caithlin resembled, perhaps, an especially angry soaking wet cat; hair and clothes plastered to her skin. She made a beeline for the fire the moment it was lit, dragging her niece with her; keen eyes might have noticed both Romulans shiver slightly. "I'll take the whiskey. Two glasses." She indicated herself and Raikael and leaned as close to the fire as she could get without setting herself aflame.
Following close behind them, Gunnar took only a moment to pull off his own fur cloak, which had provided decent protection from the rain, but now smelled of a wet bear. His greater concern was for the two Romulans, both of whom were rather more vulnerable to cold and wet, but Raikael especially. "Get her out those wet clothes," he said, unclasping the chest armour and setting it aside to strip off the still-dry underlying wool shirt. "Here, this should cover her and it's still body-warm."
Briefly rubbing the chill from now bare shoulders, he lifted a hand toward Cornelius. "I'll take a whiskey - full glass." Above him, two ravens cawed. "Right, and if this is what we're playing, add a bowl of ale for the all-father's friends."
"Drunk birds...That should be interesting." Caithlin appended dryly (the only dry thing about her at the moment perhaps) with a gracious nod at Gunnar; for all the usual Vulcan and Romulan modesty, apparently it it was overruled here by practicality given the situation and the stakes, as Caithlin helped Raikael peel off the sopping clothes in favour of Gunnar's shirt, which hung comically (but warmly) on her much-smaller frame.
Quite aware of the modesty issue, Gunnar did a quick about-face as Caithlin began to strip Raikael down, both making it plain his eyes were elsewhere and providing his back as a bit of privacy curtain.
Across the way, Zoe had practically run in toward the fire. She wasn't worried about ravens or rats - other than the fact that she probably look liked a drowned rat now! Throwing off her wet cloak and draping it near the fire, she started squeezing out the tangled mess of tight curls that her hair had turned into after the drenching. There was one bright spot - she might be allowed a real drink here. "Hey, I'll take a whiskey too."
The bartender, with the practiced ease of a hundred pours a night, poured five drinks, full glasses for Caithlin, Gunnar and Seshi, with half glasses for the two girls. His eyes met Gunnars, and he shrugged. "Not enough to get her drunk, but it'll help her feel warm for a moment." He himself took a swig from the bottle before shuffling about to see what else was about. "Plus, probably about to be a valuable teaching moment," he said with a grimace as the flavour settled and the man shuddered. He was pretty sure better stuff came from bathtubs.
After a minute of shuffling about the empty bar, he returned with a surprisingly fresh loaf of bread, placing it on the bar, and heading back to throw some of the - what he hoped was - beef he'd found onto the small grill space to cook.
"Thanks for the warning." Gunnar shot the whiskey and grimaced. Paint thinner would probably be smoother. But it did have a punch to it. He measured the half glass with his eyes, considering appropriate dosage for a skinny teen (hopefully) inexperienced with strong drink, and poured part of her glass into a small bowl.
"Hey!" Zoe objected. "That's mine."
"This part is theirs," he said, reaching up to place the saucer on a rafter, to a chorus of excited caws from the watching ravens. "Trust me, better they drink it. This is already more than you should have."
Zoe scowled. "You're not my Dad."
"Indeed I am not." And thank whatever gods may or may not exist for that... He cocked a brow at her. "I doubt your Dad would let you have any."
"But you're letting her have a half glass!" She pointed indignantly at Raikael. "She's smaller and younger than me."
"And Romulan and in her aunt's care," he replied mildly, and broke a piece of bread from the loaf. "I suggest having some bread to cut the taste. This stuff is awful."
"It is hideous." Caithlin agreed after taking an exploratory sip of it, and followed the statement by simply upending the entire cup and downing it all at once like Arnason had, grimacing afterwards.
"I'm not drinking that." Raikael stated mulishly, half gagging after a first sip of her own led her to glare at the drink like some children approach their least-favorite vegetable. That the child in question had actually had alcohol before, including small portions of Romulan ale, and was rejecting this alcohol solely on its merits or rather lack thereof was telling.
"Yes, you are." Caithlin shot back emphatically, pushing her niece's arm - and the glass of whiskey she was holding in her hand - back closer to her mouth. For a moment it looked as if Raikael might continue arguing, but apparently she'd absorbed the lesson that arguing with Caithlin was less acceptable than arguing with her parents, and she finally brought the drink back up to her lips, took another sip, and nearly gagged on it again, and looked over at Gunnar, confused. "I thought you said whiskey was good."
"Good whiskey tastes good, to humans," Gunnar corrected, and frowned at the empty glass in front of him. "This stuff... well, it's good for warming you up a little."
"You're putting on to 'teach me a lesson' or something, aren't you?" Zoe accused, and defiantly grabbed her now quarter glass and took a swallow. And immediately gagged and coughed, nearly spewing the drink over everyone in front of her. "Oh. My. God! That is NASTY!"
Gunnar lifted his brows. "Lesson learned?"
She narrowed her eyes at him, fuming. Her opened a couple times, then closed with rejoinders mentally begun then discarded. "Just give me some bread to get this taste out of my mouth," she snapped, grabbing a chunk of the loaf.
Sliding the plate of grilled meat onto the counter, Cornelius began shuffling through the other bottles and looking at them in the dim light. "Whiskey, rum, and..." he held the last bottle up to the light, "I think this might be vodka, but I am worried its closer to moonshine." Sliding some forks out to the table, he stabbed at the diced up meat and gave it a try. It was peppered and salted all to hell, but he'd eaten worse. Finally he gave it, grabbed a few mugs, and pured out beers for the adults.
"So, food is secured, what's next?" He regarded the sword leaned up against the door, then back to his gathered party. "I don't know about you, but I am a little exhausted from fighting one of those things, I don't know if I have the energy to take on a whole hoard."
"If we believe the space is secure? Set a watch and take some shifts getting some rest." Caithlin chewed a piece of the preserved meat and swallowed. "Considering that as of when we met, we had been up a whole day already, which especially for humans is not conducive to clear decisions or rapid reaction times. We let the clothes dry and the rain stop, and at least the four of you - " She indicated Cornelius, Gunnar, Seshi, and Zoe " - take a nap. Then we regroup after that and get to the bottom of this all."
"That is..." Gunnar paused as a yawn caught him. "...a good idea." He looked over at Cornelius. "Any chance this version your tavern has rooms to let? If not, I suppose we can stretch out in front of the fire."
"There are cots downstairs from what I gathered, but that is most definitely a cellar and is cold and unwelcoming. Help me drag them up, lets set to securing the door a little more and maybe close over these windows," he nodded to the now small and narrow windows. "I'll take first watch," his expression offered that of a man who was in this moment not going to take no for an answer. "I have some tidying to do, and this won't be my first all-too-late night. Maybe I'll see if I can make some coffee or something."
"Alright." Caithlin motioned at Seshi, Zoe, and Gunnar, then towards the cellar entrance Cornelius pointed towards. "You three bring up the cots; and then bar the cellar door...just in case." She nodded at Cornelius next. "The two of us will work on securing the door and make a last check of the perimeter for any other ways in." Finally, she shot a glance at her niece. "You close and secure the windows, then build up the fire a little more so it won't burn down."
Seshi would have been quick as always to get to hauling up some cots. Absolutely no stranger to a little hard work had her at least mildly comforted. But the banana on her shoulder tugged on a lock of her hair. "Use your magic! You can float them up here!" he piped in a tone that would have been more adorable if it was not coming out of a banana.
She shook her head, making for the cellar door. "I want to take a nap, not burn down the establishment around me. I have a feeling Cornelius would not enjoy that."
The banana looked around, and for a creature with two eyes, a weird floppy mouth, and no eyebrows, he seemed cross at the idea of not using magic. "Well this Corn-eeel-us needs to shuck his leaves and live a little. He sounds like he's popped too many kernels!"
"I heard that," the man snarled from the front entrance as him and Caithlin moved a bench in front of the door, which now swung inwards - a terrible fire hazard. "Unless you want to end up as bread, I suggest you keep from encouraging the good Council Lady from burning my bar down."
Swallowing a chuckle at the scene, Gunnar got up and headed toward the stairs. He was about to anyway after Cornelius offered the cots, but now he gave a quick two-fingered salute toward Caithlin in humorous acknowledgment of her jumping in to issue orders. "I'll get the cots. After hauling extra beds out to sick wards all winter, a few cots should be easy."
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